Daydreamers
by Punzie the Platypus
Summary: Phillip and Anne take a break from their circus to spend some alone time together—he surprises her by putting together a picnic atop a hill. They talk about the circus, the shapes of clouds, and their future together. FLUFF. Phillip-Anne.


_**Soli Deo gloria**_

 **DISCLAIMER: I do NOT own The Greatest Showman. Or Up.**

Anne frowned when she found her room backstage barred. Eyebrows knit together, she tugged at the curtain. Was it stuck? She tore at it, yet it remained. It wasn't knotted at the clasp as it was when she locked it after her as she got dressed for performing. What was this?

"Hello?" she said, shaking the curtain, wondering now if anyone was in her room. "Anyone in there?"

The curtain, drawn aside, revealed a pretty pleased-with-herself Lettie. She appraised Anne with a look of amusement and secrecy and said, "You're not going to go practice today."

Anne gave her a look. The whole troupe had gone out to their favorite bar and drunk and sang and told stories far into the night. A slight hangover played in her mind. "It's past noon. I need to practice. We have a show tonight." She'd slept in until an hour ago and woke up to frizzy hair in a daze; she needed to redeem the day and do something productive, to get her mind off her headache.

"Nu-uh, you're not. I've been given very specific instructions not to let you go into that ring today until just before the show. You've got other plans for your afternoon, sweetie," Lettie informed her firmly.

The crease in Anne's forehead deepened. "Are you still drunk or something, Lettie?" she said wearily, pushing past her friend into her rigged dressing room. It was small, like all the dressing rooms, but at least it wasn't communal. It was only shared between W.D. and her, and he let her mostly use it all to herself. She picked up her horsehair brush and worked away before her small, but nicely framed mirror. "We've got a show to do."

"Forget about the show for two seconds. Or, two hours, at least. Your Prince Charming has something he wants to do with you." Lettie smiled proudly to herself as her words brought on the reaction she wanted. Anne looked up, startled, her hairbrush back on the old bureau. "Notice how he hasn't been around the tent today. He's been a little busy putting somethin' up for you."

"A surprise?" Anne tried to play it cool, but her curiosity betrayed her. "What kind of surprise?"

"I'm not going to answer that question, and you know that," Lettie laughed. She adopted a mischievous but serious tone as she said, "He just might tell you, though."

Anne's interest was piqued. She said, "Mind leading me to him? I've got a feeling you know where he is."

Lettie squirmed and giggled. "I just might." She grabbed Anne's hand and led her through the labyrinth of the backstage of their circus tent, out into the pleasant meadow. "Close your eyes now; don't wanna spoil the fun!" Lettie ordered her before they passed out of the tent. Anne gave her a look but complied readily. Her light feet kept up with Lettie through the dark until Lettie stopped. "All right. Ready?"

"I am," Anne exhaled. She felt a little anxious with her eyes closed. She relied so much on her eyes as she flew around the tent. To be stripped of her most well-used sense plunged her into a world of loss and fear.

She felt Lettie let her hand go. A larger, familiar hand replaced hers. "Anne." Her name was Phillip's breath. She opened her eyes. He smiled and Anne struggled with suppressing a smile; look at her dashing man, trying to steal her away from her work. Part of her was drawn back to her ring, but it was a tiny part. The bigger part let him lead her out into the pasture of a beautiful summer day. The sun was almost to its peak as she said curiously, "All right, what is this?"

"What's what?" Phillip asked, like he was all innocent.

"Your surprise? You _know_ we're busy with our _eight_ shows a week and gotta keep practicing. Did you and P.T. switch roles? You're always the practical one, while he's the one walking off into daydreams." This was true; wasn't their circus a daydream at some point? And now it was a beautiful, glorious, dazzling reality.

"I'm Ringmaster too, now, madam," Phillip teased in a serious tone, "so I am allowed to give way to dreaming sometimes. I am also allowed to give you a break from work every now and then. The circus is a lot," he said, meeting her eyes, "but it isn't everything."

"P.T. would argue otherwise," Anne pointed out.

"Ha, do I know it," Phillip said, his forehead creasing, no doubt recalling some time P.T. argued otherwise. "But I, for one, would like to get away for a bit." He squeezed her hand and said, stopping, "Am I right in assuming the same about you?"

Anne's eyes narrowed as she studied him, that habitual smile she wore whenever she was around him cropping up. He knew her life centered on her ropes—but he also knew that she'd opened up to much more in the circus, including him, over time. "What's the surprise, Carlyle?" she asked, her tongue clicking against her teeth.

His eyes shone. "Close your eyes. You'll find out soon, Wheeler."

Anne sighed but complied, and let herself get led up the hill. She heard Phillip say, "If I were truly like P.T., I'd make sure you were wearing a blindfold. Lucky I'm not given completely over to dramatics."

Anne thought of him dancing and being totally in love with her and chuckled to herself at the idea of him not given over to romanticism and dramatic theatrics.

She felt him leading them uphill; the grass under her feet was soft and springy, like turf. She felt wind whipping through her pulled-back curls; "Phillip?"

"Okay." She could hear the smile he was trying to hide in his voice. "Open your eyes."

She did so and felt a bright smile crease her face; they were on the beautiful hill that stood like a protective guard over their circus tent. The view in front of her was breathtaking. Calling seagulls flew past her in the wind that blew readily over the wildflower covered hill. She could hear the usual clatter and chatter of daily activity happening in and around their tent below them; it was a comforting sound, the sound of her daily life. And then, from past the tent, was the smell of salt in the air, the telltale sign of a beautiful blue ocean.

"It's a lovely view," she said, turning to him. But that wasn't all. Behind him was a red-and-white gingham picnic blanket with a fat basket keeping it pinned down against the wind.

Anne felt her face warm with a blush; she covered it by saying, "And you're not completely over the top, just like P.T.?"

He shrugged a little. "Maybe a little now and then."

It was a simple yet thoughtful idea. They shared a picnic lunch together. Anne often looked at him as he talked and gesticulated with his hands about the newest acts and the newest ideas he and P.T. were thinking up, and the newest dance routines and additions and alterations and songs to be added to the show as they ate. She added her own comment or two every now and then, but spent a lot of time studying him. She, so often in the background, was used to studying people. She liked how he could be so reserved and practical and indifferent, apathetic when he put walls up; she liked how he could be so passionate and compassionate, so resolute and stubborn and willful and completely and utterly in love with her. She liked sitting together on the highest point of upstate New York, in plain sight, with bread-and-butter sandwiches and watermelon and sour pickles (he knew she was a sucker for a sour pickle) and being only alone. She felt like, in spite of their jobs and the circus riding on their shoulders, that they had all the time in the world. That was what it felt like when it was just them.

Phillip felt relieved that his surprise was actually a surprise; usually Anne could detect the slightest bit of aloof deceit in him and drove out any secret he had. But Lettie had kept it cool (and kept him from going too over the top or overwhelming himself too much about it) and it had played out perfectly. It was a perfect day and he'd made sure the most important menu item had made its way into the blanket folds of his picnic basket (she was such a sucker for a sour pickle) and it was perfect.

When there was finally a break in the conversation, Anne wondered, "Phillip, can I ask you something?"

"Sure, anything." And he meant it. He was an open book to her.

"Why did you make me a surprise? What's with the picnic?" Anne wondered softly.

"Well, because, though we spend a lot of time together every day," his hand came to rest on hers, "we don't get a lot of alone time together. It's our jobs, and the annoying people we work with. . ."

"You love them all and you know it," Anne teased him.

Phillip rolled his eyes but chuckled. "Yeah, I know, I know. But, Anne," he said, meeting her beautiful eyes and holding them, "sometimes we need to get away from it all and just be together, just you and me. P.T. and Charity just went to the ballet the other night with their girls, and that got me thinking. 'What can we do, together, just me and you?' The ballet seemed a little snobby and last-moment, but then I saw the basket from one of the acrobats' acts, and, it got me thinking. Now, if you ever want to go to the ballet," he backtracked quickly, stumbling over his words, "I'll get us tickets tonight—"

Anne knew what he was thinking. He thought that she thought he was embarrassed to be seen with her in public, and was making sure she knew that was not true. She knew that. She smiled. "Phillip," she said, making him stop rambling, "I love the ballet, but I kinda really love this picnic, too. It's a lot more cozy being with you alone than with you in a whole crowd of people. We're like that every night. I like our being us alone instead of being us in a crowd."

Phillip's hand held hers gently. "So do I."

Their smiles mirrored the other's, and then Anne, quite without warning, fell back, lying on the picnic blanket. Phillip, puzzled, copied her, following where her eyes were searching the summer sky for something. What was it she was looking for? The sun was hidden away by a cluster of clouds; a convoy of clouds flew across the sky, like they were in a hurry to some place they had to be. There was nothing unusual to see.

Phillip's cheek felt the uneven grass under the picnic blanket as he looked at Anne, still puzzled. "So . . ." he said, "what are we looking at here?"

Anne's face was suffused with a satisfied glow, with a joy like that of a child completely happy in simplicity. "The sky, but more importantly, the clouds."

"Oh." Phillip looked up at the seemingly normal sky, then back at her. "What about them?"

Now Anne turned her cheek against the picnic blanket so they were looking at each other. "It's not the _clouds_ we're looking at, Phil. It's what they look like, what they _are_." She looked back and pointed her painted finger up at the sky, straining to touch exactly the point she wanted to show him. "See this one? It looks like a dog wearing a top hat. See? There's its tail and the top of the hat and its paws—"

"I see it," Phillip said in recognition.

"All right. Now," Anne said calmly, "what do _you_ see?"

Phillip glanced at her, then at the passing sky. It seemed one moment there was a cloud, but next it'd rushed on at some incredible speed. He tried to focus; again, this was more P.T., the dreaming and imagining and seeing things that were one thing transformed into another. But then, Phillip caught sight of it. He said, "There's one that looks like a bathing hut on the beach."

Anne laughed. "Yes, it does."

She found a duck on a rock and he found a castle with flags and she found a wrinkly old lady and he found a snowman wearing a poncho. So the afternoon waned away until little red flags rose up in the back of their minds that yes, perhaps they should get back to their circus that afternoon, just in case they were needed in their usual widely-anticipated performance.

"We should be getting back soon," Phillip said.

"Yes, we should," Anne said, making no motion to get up.

Phillip decided two more minutes, then said, pointing away to a corner, "Do you see that, over there?"

Anne's eyebrows knit together. "See what?"

"I see you and me and a house by the seaside and the circus, with a dog and a baby carriage," he said, his voice soft, like fingers dancing lightly on the keys of a piano. He said, looking at her, "That looks like our future, Anne."

Anne looked at him and marveled that he loved her. Perhaps the purpose of today was a picnic for them made by him as a surprise, but then she contributed the clouds, and now this should've been the biggest surprise of all. But it wasn't. She knew. She'd known it for so long. It was nice hearing him say it out loud, though.

They heard a yelling voice coming nearer and nearer to them. "PHILLIP! ANNE!" P.T. emerged into sight cresting the hill. Panting, he said, waving a hand behind him, "It's an hour 'til the curtain. Come on; what are you two doing up here, daydreaming?"

Phillip and Anne couldn't help but laugh as they sat up, like they were privy to some private joke P.T. wasn't in on. "Yeah," Phillip said, Anne leaning against him, "we were."

 **This just turned into a huge ball of fluff :P Whatever. XD**

 **(And did I just make a reference to the movie Up? YA KNOW I DID.)**

 **Thanks for reading! Review?**


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